Higher
by sofia-carby
Summary: What do you do when the love of your life falls apart? Tony and Ziva have been friends since whenever forever started. After one summer Ziva comes home; completely broken. Angst and love and heartbreak and backwards heartbreak.


_**Hello, all. Firstly; this is long. I debated whether I should split it into two chapters but nah. This little piece gets to stand on its own. As usual it's in the middle of the night and I'm writing. I've got an English Vocab exam tomorrow at Uni – how much d'you wanna bet I'm gonna fail? If I write "d'you", "wanna" and "gonna" I think I might possibly fail. Oh well – at least it's snowing! **_

_**Secondly; this is AU and it's Tony and Ziva as teenagers. They've been friends since they were very little/forever and now there's angst/love. Inspired by Jodi Picoult's The Pact. She is, by the way, an awesome author. Also inspired by my own teenage mind and the song "Higher" by Swedish Idol winner 2009. Beware of grammar/typos. I tend to make weird words, most of them are on purpose, some are not. Please review, prettiest. I own nothing except my thoughts  
**_

Summer is hot all around, lingering and licking skin with freckles and miles of brown. She is lying on her back, dirt up to her thighs, caught in the millions of water tears that embed her skin. She is breath-starved and her ribs are stretched with hysterical laughter. He is next to her, grass digging into his back like a thousand syringes of life. Heaven is under them, floating; and above them is all pink softness. He can feel her wet curls in the hollow of his key-bone and they raise goose flesh.

**---**

Later they dangle with their toes in the dusk colored water. They see leaves floating on the wobbling dirt-aqua surface, fallen from the neighbor's dry tree that soon will fall over to Tony's yard and she giggles as he makes up a story about Mr. Connolly's fat frame getting smushed under the avalanche of bark. Chlorine is drying in her hair and it makes the ends stick-like in the dusty afternoon light; orange smears over the summer sky. She is his best friend and still he gets all warm in his secret places whenever she places a breath sigh in his ears. He always savors them in his heart to look at when no one else is around. Her cherry-stained mouth is drawn back over gravel-teeth now and sweet music is rising from her lips, going right into his sun-melted tendons.

'Tony, I think I like Alex.'

'Alex who?'

'You know … Alex in my math class, on the soccer team. The brown-haired one.'

Oh. The brown-haired soccer playing Alex in her math class. Very much Ziva's type. Kind and not afraid to take her hissing kicks. Tony knows exactly who she means but he pretends not to, furrowing his brows like a sparse-looking bush and hopes it looks real. He is a tad scared she will look right through him like she always does with those fox-eyes of hers but she doesn't. Her gaze is dipped in dreams now; and she is twisting her brown honey curls about her water-kissed pinkies until it makes him dizzy. He says stop that and she just giggles and splashes cool pool water that stings in his sun-stained face until he drags her under the surface by her branch-wrists. He inhales pool bubbles by accident when his right hand grazes her left breast. She doesn't notice, just floats on the water like a light-limbed water bug, her bathing suit marking the damp outline of her transparent willowy wings.

'Do you believe in love, Tony?

He tries to shrug but water gravity says no.

'I guess.'

She smiles as twilight ink-dips the sky.

'I think I love someone.'

He digs his fingernails into his mapped palms. Not Alex, please not Alex.

She bends her head back then, letting water lift her hair.

'I'm never going to tell who I love, though.'

She laughs and stretches her toes out like a fat, flesh-colored butterfly with water-wrinkled wings, trying to take flight in troubled waters. He grabs it at blows under it and she is shrieking so loud his ears start to hurt. She is ticklish under her feet since forever and he has always envied that. He has never been ticklish, even though Ziva always thought he was under his arms. He just pretended so she would touch him with her soft fingertips. So they would have something more in common except for childhood.

She presses him under the surface now and he opens his eyes. Her skin is milk-green in the water and all is eerie quiet. She says something he can't hear; and breath pearls escape from her lips. They are alone in their underwater world and he wishes they could stay here for all eternity, water lined fingers entwined, pool water their home. He craves air but waits until really the last second to break through the surface. As his lungs ache for oxygen she pokes his prominent ribs and he wishes once again he'd have bigger muscles stretching and arching all over his body; filling in all those boy craters.

'I think I have to go home now.'

'Yeah, it's getting pretty late.'

**---**

They walk home barefoot, not worrying about stepping on sharp glass on the sidewalk. They are immortal and young and will live for eternity. The asphalt curve is lukewarm under their naked soles and it warms them under and through; a wonderful afterbite of summer. She is babbling a string of words per usual about things so random he has to laugh and when he laughs she laughs too, all wonderlovely youth sounds that cling to the twilight air. She balances on the lines in the road, tiptoes over them; Bambi-like wobbly steps. He teases her about not having as graceful limbs as a ballerina.

'Oh fuck you.'

He shushes her; because his neighbors are all old people with wrinkly plumbskin and stale breath who for sure will tell his parents. He likes it though. It feels like a dare; curse words in her sweet breath.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck'

Her voice is at the top of her lungs, ringing all around, echoing. He laughs and pushes her and suddenly she is off-balance and she really looks like a ballerina; all featherbones and air-borne hair.

When she hits the ground she makes a noise somewhere deep down her throat and he is scared, oh he is scared to death with ice packed between his ribs. He quickly drops to her side, guilt sour in the roof of his mouth.

'Are you alright?'

'I guess.'

She shows him her knee. Her sun-kissed skin has split in a crook. Blood vessels are burst all over, and dry dirt stick to it. It looks quite disgusting.

'Oh.'

'Whatever.'

She is on her feet immediately, rising above him now, like she did when they were in kindergarten until he finally grew past her. He'd been so proud, patting her on her baby head and she had kicked him between his legs until he started to cry.

She is tough as nails as usual. She never needs a knight to come save her from the modern dragon that is life. She ignores the fire gushing all over; she is no smooth-haired princess with cheeks rose-kissed with fear. He sighs and gets up, too.

'You should probably put a band-aid or something on that.'

'Yeah, whatever. We're at my place soon anyway.'

She continues to balance on the lines like she is well and nothing has dared scratch her frame. But he who knows her every tentative step so well, knows the flow in the limbs when she walks, knows her head is always high in the dark clouds looking life right in the eye; he knows something is wrong. She is limping slightly, her metal-wrapped teeth digging into her fleshy cheek. She fucks pain right back when it embraces her, but she cannot ignore it. But he doesn't say a word because he knows that if he does, she will turn on him; all fire crackers in her eyes, irritation streaming from her being. She hates it when people tell her what to do. She is the most independent person he has ever met and ever will meet; shrugging out of people's sweaty, helping hands and tearing apart grown-up's rules until her hands are raw. Sometimes she reminds him of those Arabic horses her father has. Thick brown skin on their noses, tendons and muscle flexible underneath. A need to run free, hating reins and saddles and people trying to control them by digging metal into their gums. She never got along with those horses but he did, stroking their fur, soothing their heavy-wired souls. He never tells her that because she would just roll her eyes skyward and sigh and say that he reminds her of a stocky Shetland's pony. And she would be perfectly honest because Ziva never lies. Ever. She says what is grazing her mind and what she wants most in the small world; no limits are too wide to stretch. She has a birch-spine and has lies within her that never burn her lips. He admires that about her.

**---**

Her house is empty. She shouts hellos and only trapped air-condition answers her thin voice in the void. He never really liked her house but he never tells her. She hates it, too and she always tells him. It is ridiculously big, space too thick. She walks into the kitchen, back slightly bowed to the pain, red falling all over the soap-scrubbed floor. He fidgets around, knowing perfectly well where everything is and pulls the emergency kit out because he knows that she will never do it herself. She will just sit stubbornly on a chair, teeth nudging her lips impatiently until the bleeding transforms into scabs she just scratches right off.

'Jump up on the counter.'

She raises her eyebrows.

'Why?'

He sighs.

'Because you need to stop the fucking bleeding or your kitchen will become our new swimming pool.'

She rolls her eyes but smile under her breath.

'Fine.'

When she sits on the counter, they are exactly the same height. He's not really used to it – the close proximity of it all and the pool-smell on her skin - so he drops the kit and accidentally cuts himself on the steely, sharp edge.

'Shit.'

She giggles and takes his skin-broken hand ever so gently in her own dirty palm.

'Let me see.'

She turns his hand over, examining the thick-flowing blood that presses itself out through a tiny flap of skin. He expects her to call him a wimp but that doesn't happen. Instead she places his hand on her smeared knee; blending their blood. When she removes it he is a statue; breath in his belly.

'There. Now we're always connected.'

She smiles and jumps down, dirty soles landing in the puddle of red-dipped water. When she walks away her footprints look like Australian winter soil. He doesn't even try to stop her and he is high with perhaps the sight of blood, perhaps something else.

When she comes back she's got a vodka bottle half-filled/empty with air in her fist. She grins inwards and waves if before him. He is suddenly nervous and exited, emotions blending together in all different pastel colors. He has never been drunk before and he if you don't count cough syrup temptation kicks, she hasn't either.

'Shouldn't we like … blend it up or something?'

She bares her teeth.

'Nah. Ari always drinks right out of the bottle so I think we're safe.'

Still he grabs a coke from her fridge. His sweaty palms leave prints on the ice-fogged bottle and he tries to wipe nervousness off on his still-pool-damp shorts.

**---**

He follows her out to her backyard, to their secret place. It is dust-sticky grass and high bushes; a concave in the earth. They can see all the way to the city from there and probably even further. Probably even the world. When they were kids they pretended the moon was perched on their lap; all heavy milk-weight.

She folds her legs spider-like, elbow on red-stained knee and the curve of her cheek in her palm. The sun is grazing earth before it leaves them in cool and shadows rises on the other side of the world.

'Remember when we slept out here last summer?'

Oh yes, he remembers. It had been the hottest day all year and the most freezing night he had ever experienced during his existence. He had been pretty sure it had snowed even though he hadn't seen any snow-swollen clouds. He had shivered under the down-bellied sleeping bag trying not to show it. She'd laughed and asked where he'd purchased that pretty, blue lipstick of his. Then she'd pressed her ice-dipped toes against his bumpy spine and her hair had smelled of sun smoke. He had shivered more than ever.

'Yeah. And you were scared of wolves.'

She impatiently drags grass up by the roots and showers him in it.

'At least I wasn't scared of bunnies until I was twelve.'

'Hey, they do have really sharp teeth and …'

'Blah, blah, blah.'

She opens and closes her shell-shaped hand and steals the coke bottle from him.

'Ladies first.'

'Sure you're a lady? Aren't ladies supposed to have, you know, grace?'

He earns a smack on his non-existing bicep then, her touch leaving blood all bothered under summer skin.

She takes a swig from the vodka bottle and the coke bottle – letting the fluids mix in the hollow of her mouth with closed eyes and creased eyelids until she swallows. She makes a face with all screwed up features and it makes him laugh, her giving into the alcohol's kicking aftertaste.

'Well you try.'

He raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is an ignorant man-gesture and presses the coke bottle to his drought lips. It is sweet and he accidentally swallows right before his mouth and nerves embraces the vodka. It's like his gums are on fire and he is pretty sure his saliva is boiling. Still he swallows; even though his eyes dampen and his throat bathes in acid.

'Fuck.'

His voice is all creaky and Ziva blurs, her laughing mouth a weird, gaping hole in her edge-less face.

'See, you shouldn't have laughed at me. At least I didn't _cry_.'

He quickly draws his warm-skinned arm over his wrinkly lids.

'I'm not crying.'

'Sure you're not.'

He is feeling angry and a tad embarrassed so just to prove his point he swallows another mouthful of the liquor. It burns even more now, opening his acid-scabs. He doesn't let a flicker of that touch his face but he thinks it shows on the bowstring tense muscles in his inferno throat. She just rolls her eyes and lies down on her belly, grabbing the bottle and spilling some on his dirt-soaked thighs. He thinks it looks exactly like water and doesn't understand who set it on fire.

**---**

Everything is light. The sky is light, the grass is light, Ziva's light and he's pretty sure he's got light shining out his ass. His limbs are buzzing pleasantly like a gazillion of grasshoppers invading his body. Grasshoppers. Grass-hoppers. Gr-ass-hoppers. How funny. His throat used to burn but his belly is all nicely swollen and warm. He pats it. The skin is stretched over it and that's cold. How weird. He is saying all these things aloud and Ziva's laughing in a really odd way, her teeth in the way of smile-sounds. She's got grass-stains all over her cool skin and he is pretty sure she is acting drunker than she really is. He knows he is, even though his bones are all sensation-drained, mellow jelly. The sky is a blue canvas and he wants to paint on it, stretching his fingers as high as he can; imitating fat, tan-skinned fireflies. The coke bottle is empty of drops (Ziva even licked it clean on both the outsides and insides and he pretended his gaze wasn't all super-glued) and then the vodka bottle rolled down the hill, disappearing in the summer darkness. Ziva wanted to roll after it but they knocked foreheads and he saw stars both under and over his eyelids so she decided to just lay there.

'You know. They're really far away.'

He assumes she means stars and answers yes.

'People, I mean. They are always far away.'

He is confused.

'I'm not.'

She places her hot hand over his stomach; the alcohol spoiling her veins like tiny electric currents through his shirt.

'No, not you. But we're not really people.'

He laughs at this. They are teenagers with starved sky-high and above dreams. They are kids with alcoholic clouded minds and naïve memories.

'I guess we're not.'

She nods and dimples, twisting herself up on her pointy elbows, digging them down in the dew-strewed dirt.

'We should do I Never.'

'But we lost the bottle?'

She smiles down at him, smearing vodka-blended dirt on the inside of his wrist.

'We can do without it. I've got a water bottle.'

He draws himself up into a slouching position, the necks of his arms still tingly with spirit breath, almost dislocating. She smiles in the darkness.

'I'll start. I've never worn a dress on my own free will.'

He rolls his eyes. So typical Ziva. She hands him the water.

'Drink up. I know you've worn one.'

'Not on my own free will!'

'When we were five? Daisy's birthday party?'

Old memories sore around them and crash down on him. Oh, right. He sticks his weird-feeling tongue out and drinks. The water is only tasteless fluids after the liquor. He clears his throat.

'I've never been drunk before tonight.'

'You know I've never been drunk, either.'

'Yeah but you can never be sure.'

'With me you can. I've never kept anything from you, ever.'

'Me neither.'

'Good.'

She narrows her eyes toward her house but blackness still press against the windows. He silently watches her soft-carved profile. God, she is beautiful. He doesn't know if it's the vodka melting into his mind or if he really thinks so. She drinks from the bottle, placing her lips where his were before. He wonders if that's why she lets her breath fog up the inside of the bottle's empty throat.

'I'd never let you down.'

Her voice is different now, steadiness framing her air. Her gaze bores into his pores, intensity raw under an alcohol fog-cloud. She continues.

'I'd never leave you alone.'

He is dry in his mouth. It is all too serious now, for reason he doesn't know. But when he speaks, he's speaking truth.

'I'd never, either.'

She nods. One curt nod, sealing a promise band around their syllables.

'I've never kissed anyone.'

The words throw him off-balance. They are hot and cold and colorful and colorless at the same time. His words have trouble finding footing; pudding voice and soft kneecaps.

'I've … I've never either.'

It's silent then and he thinks of the pool water, filled with leaves and her mermaid-hair. She is looking at him differently now, head tweaked to the side.

Suddenly he is painfully aware of his awkward limbs, teenage chunks of skin and tendons just glued loosely to a tree-like body.

_Fuckfuck._

She's leaning forward now and her dirt-showered hand caresses his cheek. In a(nother) reality he might have wished for man-stubble but now he can't breathe, he doesn't want to suck in air because it might break it, the fragile thing, the being, the moment that surrounds them; pressing them into each other. Her eyes look like earth when fields are starving for rain.

Then she is kissing him and his eyes close automatically, lips already parted in awe. If someone asked him afterwards he would not be able to say what she smelled like or felt like because you cannot put heaven into words. She is soft-skinned and cotton candy-lipped and he is giving her his breath as he shivers. She is like earth, sun-warmed and steady and everywhere. Her tongue is around his in ways he didn't imagine possible in his vast dream deserts and her hands are curled apart at his chest, fitting into his ribs. Their noses are bumping but what does it matter? The imperfections make the moment golden lined perfect. He cannot feel his hands; numbness filled.

_Oh. _

Then it's over and she is so fucking beautiful. It's a still air until she smiles and a door bangs. Their bodies disconnect; her tearing off a part of his skin/bone/heart or so it feels. Her eyes glow in the dark and turn to the massive shadow of the house, securing them in a shady blanket. Footsteps are crossing the lawn and she tenses, he can feel her beside him, muscles flexing under the earth-skin of hers.

'What are you kids doing out here?'

Tony recognizes the voice and his heart beats in his Adam's apple. It's Ziva's father. Ever since they were kids he has not liked him. He is a tall man with frog-skin; authority tendons. He is frowning now, skin in anger folds.

'We were just talking.'

There. Ziva tells her first lie. She gets on her feet, holding his father's gaze as steady as she held Tony's heart in her palm one second or one decade ago.

Her father just looks at her for five forever-stretching seconds.

'Very well, then. Hello, Tony.'

His father's voice is all soft-draped like it always is and that's why everyone likes him. Tony's parents adore him, oh the pleasant manners and ah the itchy laughter sounds.

'You should probably go home, we leave for Israel early tomorrow morning and we need our rest. Don't we, Ziva?'

Ziva still isn't looking at Tony. She is staring at her father's shoulder, the muscles in her back alive under summer skin.

Tony doesn't want to leave her. He wants to soothe the anger he can feel is rising within her, baring its teeth, hissing under saliva breath.

But her father's gaze is heavy on him. It feels like it's pushing Tony over the edge of nothingness and he doesn't want to leave but ropes drag him the other way.

'I guess. Bye, Ziva.'

She catches his gaze right before he leaves and oh he wants to take her with. To erase whatever emotion is carved in bottomless scars all over her face. He doesn't recognize it.

**---**

The rest of summer is bits and strings of eternity. It's all a big dust cloud, summer leaking its scorching breath all over suburbia, shutting it in an oven. Tony hates it. It's all endless, limitless boredom and he hears nothing from Ziva; spending little time with the other kids on his block. June breathe into July and fall wrap around August and school starts.

**---**

That first day he is walking across the lot, eyes searching and yearning. Then he sees her. And doesn't recognize her. If someone else saw her they wouldn't say she looked any different. But just like he knew she hurt after June-hot asphalt scraped her knee; he knows that something is wrong. He walks up to her; tentative words finding footing.

'Hey.'

She turns to him and it's evident now. Her face is stiff; a mask covering whatever is within her.

'Hi, Tony.'

He awkwardly fidgets with the sun-warmed strap of his backpack, digging into his shoulder blade.

'So, how was your summer?'

She just looks at him; oceans of time unfolding in her brown eyes. She says nothing.

'I mean, I didn't hear from you at all.'

She looks past him; emptiness caressing her features. Her skin is the color of milky smears and he silently wonders where the sun went when she was away. She hasn't looked like this since they were little; baby fat stuffed cheeks and squeal voices; and she got the flu in pre-school. She'd gotten him sick and they had spent one whole week together at his place, perched under blankets with fever-cooling ice cream. It had been the best week of his entire life.

'It was good.'

Her voice is a starved string of letters, all flat. This is wrong. This isn't Ziva. He has to ask her.

'What's wrong?'

She turns her gaze on him now and he is hoping for those lifeless eyes to narrow, anger spewing from her sweet lips. When she opens her mouth her tone is still empty; falling down flat to the ground getting covered in sorrow dust.

'Just leave me the fuck alone, Tony.'

Then she walks away. Her back is crooked just like it was when she was bowing to pain. He is alone, her walking away with silent breath ringing in his ears.

Where did she go?

**---**

He tries to talk to her again but only gets a hard back and a stubborn face. He wants to know what's wrong. He needs to know what's wrong. It's like summer spread its cruel fingers and separated them.

School is a dull, two storied grayness. Inside the walls there are misery and teenage hormones; bottled up in one place. Tony is awkward now, it feels as if someone put heavy weights on one of his shoulders and he is going round and round in a circle; making himself dizzy. Without Ziva it's like he lost a part of a security blanket wrapped childhood, letting cold and adult life in, pressing down demanding and harsh. She is his best friend and he has no idea where she went.

The Ziva that is now is going through quietness. She never says hello to him anymore, a constant chill that caresses the air. Her back is always crouching; she who used to walk with a straight spine. It's like she's carrying a burden too heavy to bear. He wants to take, push, drag it off of her.

The people around him doesn't notice. She looks like she has always looked, not ordinary, not special. She blends into the mix of other people with other burdens. He is afraid he will lose his fragile grasp of her to the crowd. The others they do not get it. What Tony and Ziva share. They grew up together, tried to find footing on life's hot blooded ground together. That's not something you just throw away.

**---**

In September he is confused. In October sad. In November depressed. In December angry. In January he moves on.

Emelie Collins is the second girl he kisses. She tastes like strawberries and has cream skin with dirt-colored freckles. They make out on his bed and her shirt is red and on the floor. She has pointy hipbones arching towards the world that he touches and his heart is a motionless butterfly inside his ribcage. She moans softly from her bad breath lips all the time and he fucking hates her blonde straws that get in his mouth; gagging him.

Afterwards he finds himself thinking of Ziva.

**---**

When spring is letting go of ice and winter in March; she calls. It is Saturday and it is early and he is home alone.

'Hello?'

His voice is all hung-over with too little sleep. She hardly cares.

'Hi, Tony.'

He is awake in one breath; the crave to hear her voice almost painful. He stays quiet; just embracing her breaths on the other line.

'I … I know you don't want to talk to me and that is alright, I understand why.'

It's weird, hearing her voice. It's raspy and unfamiliar but familiar at the same time.

'I just … I need to talk to someone. I thought staying quiet was the right thing to do but … it wasn't. I tried to do this myself but I couldn't. I'm so, so sorry Tony. For everything.'

He doesn't recognize this. There is an exhaustion clinging to her tone; a hopelessness so dull it makes his bones ache.

'I'm not mad at you. You don't have to apologize.'

She is exhaling then; as if her heart was turned upside down; lightness again.

'What really happened, Ziva? Last summer.'

She is quiet for so long he fears she has hung up. But he holds on, refusing to let go this time, digging his nails into her.

'It's my father.'

His heartbeat speeds up; sickness already grazing his stomach for reasons he doesn't know. He cradles the receiver like he's holding her in his palms; closing his eyes.

'He raped me.'

**---**

For the first time in her life; she cries until she is all dried up inside. They are on his bed and she has her spine pressed into his belly; coldness seeping into him, taking it from her just like when they were a fever couple in pre-school. He doesn't say a word, she doesn't say a word. They lie there and she cries and he cries, too. She is folded in a blanket and shivers so hard her teeth clatter, noises that tear his heart in half. He holds onto her so carefully he can, trying to press the bird flesh back into her smooth skin; grasping her arms and refusing life to let go. This time he will not let her down.

**---**

She tells him then. Her voice is a hollow, gaping hole of nothing and her eyes are emotionbare. She tells him all; from the beginning how it had happened before the summer, too. He loudly wonders why the fuck he didn't notice it earlier. The anger is rising within him; poisonous and horrible. He wants to strangle the monster who caused her this pain, this stinging fate. She places her hand on his cheek.

'No, Tony.'

'What?'

'No.'

She is calmer now, her voice balancing steadily.

'But after what he did …'

She smiles gently then.

'Tony, I already know I'll never be able to erase what he did. That's why I won't let him win. He wants me here, his own personal toy. So I'm going to take that away.'

Her words fall silently around him and they are damp on his skin. As the message sinks in he is horrified.

'But you can't …'

She shushed him and caresses his cheek.

'I want to, Tony. I need to.'

It feels as if he is outside his own head; breathing foreign words.

'I'll do it with you.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No!'

'I'd never leave you alone – remember?'

She silences, words dying on her lips. Then there is acceptance entwining them. She nods.

'I'll never leave you alone.'

**---**

They are in their secret place. Newborn grass is pushing under the old grass, April spilling its fresh breath all over. She is quiet and stares out over the world; it's whole weight on their slender teenage shoulders. Life is too small, too painful, too vacant. She is an Arabic horse in her flesh and bones; she needs to run free when life tries to chain her down to the ground. As they sit there; quietness ringing in their ears, she takes his hand. Their palms surge into each other's and they are one piece of youth limbs and flesh and drained life and destination unknown. When they put the pills in their mouths (all rainbow colors) they are quiet. When they swallow they are quiet. When they wait they are quiet.

She turns to him, then.

'Remember when we were at your pool last summer? When I told you I loved someone?'

He nods.

'I meant you.'

He nods. He didn't say it out loud back then but he knows she knows.

'I meant you, too.'

They look at each other for several seconds. Then things become other colors. It's their underwater world. She is beautiful, hair in whirlpools, bubbles in her breath. She smiles softly and mouths something. He knows exactly what she means and mouths back, water sealing their secret last words.

She is his best friend and together they give up life and embrace eternity.

**---**

_Oh I know it can be scary, you better know when your heart is on the line_

_But oh, baby don't worry, just hold my hand and never let me go_

_I am flying, my heart is taking over, the world is flashing by_

_Higher, Higher, Higher_

_I will follow wherever it might take us, chasing through the sky_

_Higher, Higher, Higher_

_Take me higher; I'll hold you as we're shooting through the atmosphere_

_Around us everything disappears_

**---**

_**Liked it? Didn't like it? Hated it? Want to rip it to pieces – all broken words? Please tell me in reviews all you lovely people out there, xx.**_


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